


Foiled

by abiggerwave



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abiggerwave/pseuds/abiggerwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester meets a beautiful man by the name of Castiel Novak in a bar where he satifies his craving for alcohol. Could this budding friendship cure Dean of his addiction? Could this be more than a simple friendship? A story based on the album "Foiled" by Blue October.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Make Me Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is the beginning of a wonderful journey for me (and hopefully for you as well). I've had the thought in my head for a while now, and that thought was to make a story about Castiel and Dean to the album Foiled by Blue October. For whatever reason, my thoughts always run to that sweet angel and his human every time I listen to that album. 
> 
> At the end of each chapter I will be including the lyrics to the song the chapter is named after. 
> 
> Please read, and if you don't know the album maybe listen to the song before/after each chapter. Leave me a comment if you'd like, and I'll see you next chapter. Enjoy :)

Dean walked along the main road, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as his eyes glanced about for a decent watering hole. He had passed a couple of bar & grill type establishments but the thought of hanging out in a chain restaurant made him cringe. The sun was shining but there was a bit of chill in the air. The cold breeze felt good against the back of his neck, made him feel awake. The early evening might even have been pleasant if it weren’t for Sammy intruding in on his thoughts, the lines of his face bent into an angry glare, his cheeks flushed red with frustration.

_You gotta stop doing this, Dean!_

They had talked since that night, smoothed everything over with a couple of “sorry”s and “I didn’t mean it”s. Dean had smiled and clapped Sam on the shoulder, wishing him well on his trip to California.

_“Meet a hot babe and don’t let her know that your older brother is better looking than you,” he’d said as they gave each other a goodbye hug._

_Sam laughed and nodded, “Sure, jerk.”_

_“Bitch.”_

The corner of Dean’s mouth lifted with the memory, but it quickly faded back into a frown. He knew that the fight wasn’t resolved. They had glossed over it in the usual Winchester fashion, shoving down the actual problem just to stop the fight in the present moment. But it would be back. It always came back to bite them in the ass. Also in the Winchester fashion.

Dean took a turn into the next little bar on the road. “General’s Pub”. It wasn’t exactly what he was looking for, a little bit too populated for his taste, but he needed a drink and he needed a drink now. To his immense relief, there weren’t too many people seated at the bar and as he claimed a stool of his own, the bartender came immediately for his order. He was in his 30’s, clean-shaven with black hair and an earring. Eh, not bad.

“Give me your best beer on tap,” Dean grunted, focusing his thoughts back on what he was there for. He watched as the bartender nodded and got to work, pulling the beer tap and letting the liquid pour into into a glass with an efficiency probably achieved by years of practice. Dean gave a small ‘thanks’ as the glass was placed in front of him.

“I’ll start a tab?” the man offered. Dean nodded.

As he took the first gulp, the drink giving him a kind of pleasure it seemed only alcohol could give him these days, he heard the bartender greeting people as they walked through the door.

“Novak! Good to see ya!” He heard a couple of voices tossing greetings back and forth. He could almost hear the Cheers theme song playing in his head.

“Where everybody knows your name,” he sung under his breath, his level of annoyance rising. He was going to have to vacate soon, there were too many people for his current state of mind. It seemed that this was a local bar that Dean was intruding on. Though, he supposed he was a local now. The key to his new apartment resting in his pocket said that much.

He was taking another sip when the sound of the stool next to him scraping against the floor alerted him that he was about to have his space invaded. He was almost in the mood to turn to this mystery person and tell them to fuck right the fuck off but when he actually did turn his head…

Well, what to focus on first? There were the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen, of course, looking straight at him, making his face go warm and his body freeze up. Then there was this smile that went from ear to ear, wide and toothy. Throw in the tousled dark brown hair that looked as if it existed only to have hands in it and Dean was rendered speechless.

“Hello,” the gorgeous stranger said, voice much deeper than Dean would have expected.

Dean moved his mouth to reply and found no words for what felt like forever before finally choking out a short, “Hi.” He wanted to smack himself in the head for how stupid it sounded. “Uh...hey,” he added. Sure, why not, make it worse.

Dean didn’t understand how it was possible, but the stranger’s toothy grin grew even wider as he lifted his hand to call for the bartender. Embarrassed, Dean looked down at his drink, trying his hardest to focus on the condensation on the glass rather than on his idiotic social skill in this moment.

“So, where are you from?” the deep voice asked once the bartender had served him his drink.

_It’s just some guy trying to be friendly, Dean, you need to chill the fuck out._

Mentally, he took a deep breath and tried to ground himself. “What makes you think I’m not from here?” he replied, swallowing down his sudden awkwardness and sounding a million times smoother than he had at first.

_Thaaaaat’s it._

“I just haven’t ever seen you around, that’s all.”

“And you, what? Know everyone in town?” Now he was starting to sound like a little bit of a snarky asshole, but the reply surprised him.

“Yes, that sounds about right.”

Dean arched his eyebrow, skeptical. The stranger laughed as he pulled at the blue tie of the suit that Dean had just realized he was wearing.

“I’m Castiel Novak,” he said, reaching towards Dean for the obligatory nice-to-meet-you hand shake. Dean shook his hand, noting the way their skin slid against one another’s, but let out a bark of laughter mid-shake. There was no way he was letting that one slide by him.

“ _Castiel?_ ” he inquired, overemphasizing the syllables to make it clear the name was ridiculous to say.

Castiel chuckled, letting go of Dean’s hand with a shrug.

“Trust me, I’ve grown used to that reaction.”

“Hippie parents?” Dean inquired with some amusement.

“Try ultra religious, conservative, business types.”

Dean looked Castiel up and down.

“Following your old man’s foot steps?” he asked, arching a brow at Castiel’s suit and tie ensemble.

The dark-haired man sighed, reaching a hand up to loosen the tie around his neck as if it were choking him.

“Not by choice,” he said with a grimace. Dean gave a nod and couldn’t help but notice just how expressive this man was. Three little words, but so much emotion behind each and every one. Dean didn’t know this guy’s story, didn’t know him at all, but he could sense the cage that he was living in. The worst part of all of it was that he could relate.

“I feel ya,” Dean muttered under his breath as flashes of his father’s face flitted through his brain. The silence that followed had a real weight to it and Dean was certain the conversation was done.

_Well, there goes that._

He lifted his glass once more to his lips, taking a generous gulp of the dark brown liquid.

Then, surprising Dean, Castiel coughed, took a final swig of whatever he was drinking, and shook off the heavy silence covering the both of them with a smile.

“So if you’re new, I’m guessing you aren’t too familiar with the town?”

Dean shook his head, gesturing around the room.

“Not at all, I just randomly walked in here off the street. Just looking around to see, uh,  what’s up,” he said lamely.

“Well, mystery man, I know the place pretty well so if you ever want a little tour,” at this, he paused, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and taking a pen from the bar, “please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Castiel placed the piece of paper next to where Dean’s hand lay on the bar and smiled that brilliant smile once again. Then, he threw some cash down for his drink and grabbed a tan trench coat from the chair behind him.

“You’re not even going to ask me what my name is?” Dean asked, folding the piece of paper into his hand like it was a precious jewel.

“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to. What is your name, mystery man?” Castiel’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

Dean hesitated, wondering why it was so important to him for this random stranger to know his name. He contemplated for a brief moment simply telling the man a fake name.

“Dean,” he confessed.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, reaching out to shake his hand once more.

And suddenly Dean knew exactly why it was so important: the smile on his face was genuine for once.

  
  
  


“Hey, Sammy how’s Californ-I-A?” Dean said into his cellphone. It started ringing as soon as he had opened the door to his apartment, and since he’d ignored Sam’s last few calls he figured he should probably answer this time.

He wanted to smile at his little (well, younger, definitely not little) brother’s voice but the tone carried something distinctly familiar to Dean and he knew this conversation was going to end badly.

“Uh, warm. Still. It’s still like 90 degrees here, can you believe it?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Yeah, that’s California for you. You get all settled in?” Dean inquired, throwing his keys on the kitchen counter and shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders.

“Yeah, I still need to go get a few things for school but it looks like I’ll be set for when it starts.”

Dean plopped himself down on the couch he managed to lug up the stairs two days ago.

“What about you? Settled?” Sammy’s voice questioned from all the way out on the west coast.

Dean knew what Sam was really asking, and the anger started bubbling up to the surface once again. He could almost taste the tension forming, just as he had that night they fought two weeks ago.

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean grunted.

“Can we not sit here and pretend like everything was okay, is okay?”

Dean could picture Sam’s face like it was right in front of him. Eyebrows raised and furrowed, lips pursed, skin flushed with anger and annoyance. Well, Dean could be angry too.

“I said, I’m _fine_ ,” he repeated.

“Oh yeah?” Sam huffed, “When was your last drink, Dean?”

The buzz Dean got from his drinks at General’s Pub was wearing off now. He knew it would never last this conversation. He stood, preparing for a battle.

“You wanna back off, Sammy?” he heard the defensiveness in his voice and cursed the way he could be so transparent. But really, he hadn’t had much to drink, at least not compared to normal. Not to mention it was only 10 PM, not an unreasonable time to come home.

Sam ignored him completely.

“I’m sure you’re just getting back from some seedy bar, that’s why I haven’t been able to get a hold of you and that’s exactly the problem Dean. You have a drinkin--”

“You better not be about to say what I think you are, Sam,” Dean interrupted, seething.

“What? That you have a drinking problem?” his younger brother accused. “Should I remind you of how you weren’t coming home until 4 in the morning, completely useless to the world? Or about how I was worried you crashed and were lying in a ditch? How about losing your job?”

Dean tried to interrupt but Sam kept going.

“Spending all your money, losing all your friends, pushing Bobby away. What about what you did to Jo, Dean? If you don’t stop the path you’re on you’re going to end up just like-”

“Shut. Up.” Dean breathed heavily into the phone which he gripped so tightly in his hand it was surprising that it still held its shape.

Sam faltered, going silent for a moment. They both sat quiet, still.

After a few minutes a softer, gentler voice came from the earpiece of the cell phone.

“What else is it, Dean? What else could it be?”

A click sounded and Sam was gone.

Dean threw the phone across the room. He felt angry, sure, he usually felt angry. What Sam had said pissed him off to a point where he wanted to punch a hole into the wall of his new apartment. But…

That quiet voice, that voice that reminded Dean of the kid Sammy, the one that looked up to his brother and was cared for by that brother, that only made Dean feel guilty. It shoved anger out of the way and painted his insides with despair.

He hadn’t let Sam finish but he’d known what he was going to say.

_“You’re going to end up just like dad.”_

The thought felt like a knife through his belly.

The worst part of all of it was that he had the same suspicion; he was turning into John Winchester. Good ol’ dependable John Winchester who’d let his sons live alone for weeks at a time while he went out for booze. The John Winchester who was so angry at the world that he would take it out on his older son. The thought made him want to curl in on himself and retreat into the dark recesses of the booze in his cabinet.

He walked to his kitchen, heading for that particular dark recess. Clearly, getting buzzed wasn’t enough. He uncapped the bottle of whisky he’d stowed away in there and stared at it for a long moment. He imagined the sweet burn of the liquid running down his throat, resting in his gut. He imagined the world going a bit fuzzy, softer around the edges. So much more tolerable than reality with its sharp lines and hard surfaces. He prepared to take a gulp but noticed the tiny folded up piece of paper sitting on his counter. He paused, holding the bottle mid-air.

_“Well, mystery man, I know the place pretty well so if you ever want a little tour please don’t hesitate to call me.”_

Dean remembered the wide grin, the kind eyes. He felt the heavy weight pressing down on his brain lift ever so slightly, and sighed.

He put the bottle down and went to retrieve his phone instead.

  
  
  
  


That first time they had met to ‘tour’ the town, Dean thought maybe he’d jumped the gun in calling Castiel, finding the man’s sudden change from open and smiling to quiet and reserved unsettling. The first time they met the dark haired man had smiled brightly, immediately introduced himself, and was as friendly as a person could be. Their second meeting was a bit different.

Right away Dean got the feeling that Castiel was moody. He’d smiled and greeted Dean with the familiar hand shake when they found each other at the casual restaurant Castiel had chosen, but it wasn’t the same smile. Before, light had practically radiated from Castiel’s face, from his eyes, from his entire body and that was the lion’s share of the reason Dean found the nerve to call the man. Now, it was dull somehow, a bit forced. Not fake. Dean got the impression that Castiel was the type of person who couldn’t be fake even if he wanted to and recalling the emotion in his face and voice as he spoke about his parents affirmed that to Dean.

The entire afternoon had followed in the same manner as that initial moment. Sure, they’d talked about where Dean moved from, a little bit about Sammy and his decision to go to school in California, and they ate a delicious lunch of perfectly created sandwiches and iced tea. Had they been business associates, meeting because they needed to discuss important financial matters, everything would be considered to be going smoothly.

But they weren’t business associates.

They moved on from the restaurant, walking into the downtown area, Castiel pointing to this building and that, letting Dean know which were good eating establishments and which were likely to give a person food poisoning.

As they approached a giant building, Castiel’s mood got darker. The lines in his face became sharp, his body stiff.

“That’s my family’s building,” he’d said, motioning briefly before speedily walking away, eager to get it behind him.

Dean marveled at it for a minute in awe. It was _huge_ , towering above the rest of the buildings like a lord above his peasants. When he turned to ask Castiel what his family even did, the man was gone. A few moments of searching and he spotted the tousled dark hair and the tan trench coat much further down the road and jogged to catch up.

The bad vibes radiated from Castiel, and Dean thought better than to ask about his family.

When he’d gotten back to his apartment in the early evening, he figured that that was probably the last time he would see Castiel. They’d shook hands once again (Dean feeling a shiver run through his body at the feel of Castiel’s skin against his once more, despite the awkwardness of their time together), and said a quick goodbye.

_He probably regrets giving his number to the new guy in town, went out because of a sense of obligation, and won’t ever make contact again, Dean had thought._

And frankly, Dean had understood. Not only was the guy stunning, but it looked like he had some money and power on his side as well. No one like that would want to hang out with Dean Winchester.

As soon as he got back to his apartment, he opened the bottle of whiskey he’d capped before calling Castiel, and drank until blackness enveloped him.

 

A few days later, Dean felt the distinct sensation of his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. With the lingering headache of his lovely hangover, coupled with another day of unsuccessful job hunting and his annoyance at his brother’s timing (he’d just taken a giant bite of his burger), he pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered with a “Wha’ you want, bitch?” He felt some of the food spray from his mouth.

Silence, and then a “I, uhh...I’m sorry?”

Dean was living inside of his own body and wasn’t faced directly at a mirror so he couldn’t see the expression on his own face but he sure could imagine it. He must have looked like his eyes were popping out of his skull, and he immediately started to choke on his food because it wasn’t Sammy on the other side of the phone.

“Are you okay?” he heard the deep, coarse voice ask through the sound of his own loud hacking cough, the phone falling beside him on the couch.

When he finally stopped choking on his food, he put the phone back up to his ear and said “Hey”, as if he hadn’t just answered the phone sounding like he was dying.

“Did I call at a bad time?” Castiel asked politely.

“I...um, no. I just, that’s what I uh, call my brother,” Dean let out a nervous laugh, realizing he probably sounded like a weirdo.

“You call your brother _bitch_?” Castiel’s inquiry sounded like a mixture between confusion and amusement, the curse sounding bizarre coming from his mouth.

“Yeah, we just...do...that,” Dean answered lamely. He rolled his eyes at the sound of his own voice. Was it really any wonder why Castiel hadn’t wanted to hang out with him? Except…

Wait, what?

Castiel laughed. “Well I suppose I understand the relationship between siblings can be rather complex, though I wonder how my brother would react to that particular nickname.”

Dean barely heard him. Instead, he was quickly re-living the events from a few days before, when Castiel had all but brushed him away. As Castiel chuckled at a joke he must have made while Dean was lost in thought, Dean once again blurted into the phone.

“Why are you calling?”

The other end of the line went silent. For a moment Dean thought Castiel might have hung up on him, which would make a lot of sense since Dean just asked a rude question in a very rude way, but glancing at the screen he saw they were both still on the line. He was about to hit himself in the forehead but stopped himself, realizing that he had every right to be rude. Hadn’t Castiel been rude to him? Treated him like some kind of weird social charity case? As if Dean had been the one asking to hang out! Castiel had practically forced his number into Dean’s hand, not the other way around.

Just as Dean was about to start ranting and raving, the deep voice sounded once again.

“Well, I called to apologize, Dean,” he said solemnly.

Dean’s body relaxed.

“I’m sure you noticed I wasn’t in the best of moods on Saturday and to be honest I wasn’t at all like myself,” Castiel sighed, and Dean could picture him reaching to loosen the tie around his neck, stress outlining his body.

“Remember what I said about my parents?” Dean made an affirmative noise and Castiel continued, “Well, they were being even more themselves than usual. They gave me some news that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with and I let it affect me more than I should have. So, I’m very sorry.”

Dean blinked, surprised once more by this stranger. Not only by the apology which was genuine almost to a fault, but the way it had been delivered. During the silence, Dean had figured Castiel was doing a bit of stalling, or that maybe he just didn’t know what to say. He understood now that Castiel was actually just a thoughtful person, refusing to blurt things out like Dean had, and instead letting his thoughts come to him so he could frame them in the right way to express himself. Business man, indeed.

“I know it isn’t the best excuse in the world,” Castiel continued, “and I’m sure you were less than impressed with the time we had, but I would like to have a do over.”

Dean hesitated. “Do over?”

“If you’re willing to, yes.”

The apology was so sincere and the request made so earnestly that Dean could hardly help himself.

“Yeah, okay, yeah.”


	2. He's My Ride Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean couldn’t express in words the gratitude he felt for the blue-eyed man he’d met in that bar more than a year ago. Dean was an absolute mess when they had met, still was, but Castiel had stuck with him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writing style changes a bit throughout this chapter. I want to inform you that it is intentional, so maybe it will bother you less (lol).   
> Anyway, please enjoy this next installment. The story should really pick up in the next chapter. I'm hoping to get that out within a week, but I'm not known for my frequency in updating things. 
> 
> Please feel free to bug me, and let me know if you're enjoying what you're reading. Thank you!
> 
> (I do not have an editor, please inform me of any and all spelling/grammar errors)

-September 15th-

 

The second tour went much better than the first. Castiel was back to the man he had met at the bar. He smiled like an actual person, he listened attentively every time that Dean spoke and when a joke was made, he laughed fully and without reservation. By the end of the night, Dean’s attraction to Castiel had increased 1000 fold.

_Stop it_ , he warned himself.

 

-October 31st-

 

Castiel convinced Dean to go to a costume party with him. Dean was a cowboy. Castiel was...an angel? Dean still wasn’t sure but he wore something that looked like a toga and when Dean had asked Castiel had said ‘It’s a play on my name! Get it?’

He laughed, smiled and then nodded, pretending like he got the reference.

 

Dean woke up on his bathroom floor, smelling like vomit. Luckily, after a brief conversation two days later, Castiel informed him of enough to lead him to the conclusion that all vomiting had been done in the comfort of his own home and without any witnesses.

 

-November 2nd-

 

“You’re drunk, Dean,” Castiel observed as he stood in the doorway to Dean’s apartment after Dean had stumbled his way to opening it.

“I can’t handle life today,” he’d responded before he could stop himself.

Dean could hardly believe how freeing it was to tell Castiel the story of his mother’s death. About how she said she would be back with an apple pie just for him. About how she had kissed his forehead and told him to be nice to his brother. About how the policemen had knocked so loudly on their door. About how he never saw her alive again.

And then his mouth continued on, detailing the relationship he had with his father afterwards. About how John Winchester drank himself to death and forced Dean and his brother Sammy to watch.

Castiel brought his hand up to Dean’s face, brushing a thumb across his jaw and then gently let it fall upon Dean’s shoulder. He let Dean talk himself to sleep.

When Dean woke up the next day, Castiel was still there, sleeping on the chair opposite the couch. He had stayed, and Dean wouldn’t forget it.

  
  


-January 28th-

 

Another night at the bar, another night Dean gets drunk and starts a fight with a random stranger.

 

-February 9th-

“Sounds like school is going pretty good then, huh?” Dean asked into the receiver of his cell phone.

“Yeah, I really like it here. I have one teacher I’m not really enjoying, but the rest are great. Really knowledgeable,” Sam answered.

Dean started to ask another question, but Sam interrupted him.

“Are you still drinking every night, Dean?”

They fought for nearly twenty minutes before Dean couldn’t stand it anymore and hung up. Could he not have a single conversation with his brother that didn’t turn into some kind of weird intervention?

 

-March 5th-

 

Castiel smells nice when Dean is drinking. Well, Castiel always smells nice but Dean doesn’t mind letting him know about it on the nights he is drinking. The sound of Castiel’s laughter as Dean nuzzles into the crook of his neck makes Dean’s stomach fill with butterflies.

“Dean, you’re drunk.”

“I know,” he laughs, pressing kisses to Castiel’s jaw line.

Castiel sighs, hands slipping just barely under Dean’s t-shirt on either of his sides.

Dean crawls fully into Castiel’s lap, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses underneath his ear.

The moans this action elicit from the dark haired man are enough to drive Dean insane but just as he is about to continue his administrations he is pushed off of Castiel’s lap.

Castiel smiles sadly as Dean protests.

“You aren’t going to remember this Dean,” he says, voice low with something similar to sadness, “Just go to sleep, okay?”

 

Dean wakes in the morning not knowing where he is with an intense headache.

 

-May 18th-

 

When Dean was fired from his job at a garage where he could fix cars and get his mind off of troubling things, it didn’t go well. He called Sam who offered precisely zero words of sympathy or comfort. He accused Dean (rightfully so, but he was too pathetic to admit it) of probably doing what he did at his last job before he’d moved. I.E. Coming in late with a hangover after long nights out, missing days due to particularly horrible hangovers, etc. For a little icing on his misery cake, they fought, and the call ended with Sam hanging up in the middle of Dean’s sad attempt to defend himself.

 

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

 

There was that annoying knocking again. He could hear someone groaning, maybe it was him? And the ground was just so hard. Why was he sleeping somewhere so damned hard?

He opened his eyes again, trying to focus on something. Through the haze he could see a gleaming metal handle. A cupboard?

“Dean! Dean, open the door!”

Who is yelling my name?

“Please let me in!”

The voice sounded panicked. The voice sounded like Cas.

“Cas,” he heard the peculiar growl leave his throat.

“Dean, is that you? Please let me in,” Castiel pleaded.

He groaned, trying to roll over so he could lift himself off of the kitchen floor. That’s where he was, he realized. It took nearly all of his strength to get up, and it was only in him because of that pleading voice. He had never heard that voice from Cas.

He nearly tripped over the empty beer cans and uncapped whiskey bottle laying on the ground next to where he’d passed out. Making it to his front door, the ground in front of him spinning and twisting and making him feel somewhat nauseated, he struggled with the lock for a few brief moments before Castiel burst through, grabbing both of his arms.

Castiel’s wide blue eyes stared into his for a moment before turning into a glare.

“You have to stop doing this Dean,” he growled, kicking the door shut behind him.

He felt a sobering anger flare up in his hazy brain and slurred out “What? Havin’ a good time?”

Castiel’s grip around his forearms tightened and he jerked Dean’s body over to the couch, shoving him down onto it.

“Yes,” he began, sarcasm dripping from his every word, “You look like you’re having such a wonderful time Dean. The vomit on your shirt tells me that much. I love the broken bottle of whiskey on the floor too, is that new? Oh, and this.”

He spoke his last words with concern, dropping to his knees and grasping Dean’s hand in his.

“You cut your hand open, Dean,” he said, sighing before rushing away to, from what Dean could make of the sounds, the hall closet. He came back a few seconds later with antiseptic and bandages.

Dean pulled his hand away when Castiel bent to bandage the cut.

“Quit tryna help, Cas.”

Silence settled in over both of them. Dean closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch, wishing only to be left alone. He was vaguely aware of the bandage wrapping around the wound on his hand.

After a few moments, he felt the couch give a little near his legs. He opened his eyes to find Castiel sitting at the end, staring at him, the space between his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“You can’t drink yourself into a stupor every time you are disappointed, Dean,” he spoke quietly.

Dean heard the bark of ugly laughter leave his body, but it was a sound he’d never heard himself make.

“I,” he hissed, “can do whatever the hell I want.”

Castiel leaned forward, face pained, and uttered something Dean could hardly believe.

“What would Sam think?”

Rage tore through Dean’s gut like a monster, lifting him from his spot on the couch and propelling him into Castiel where he threw a punch into the side of his friend’s face.

Castiel cried out in surprise, but Dean was too drunk to hold his own and soon was faced away from Castiel, arms held behind his back. He struggled, trying to free himself but knew it was in vain. Castiel was a strong mother fucker, and Dean was wasted.

“You need help Dean,” Castiel panted.

“I don-”

“You need help,” Castiel repeated, interrupting Dean’s protests. “Looking around this room I can see how much you had to drink. You could have poisoned yourself. You could have died, do you understand?”

Dean was quiet, listening to the labored breath of Castiel, his body slackening. Castiel let Dean go, sighing as Dean turned and slumped back into the couch cushions. They stayed silent for several minutes.

“Maybe it would be better if I did.”

Dean gasped as the force of the slap to his face knocked his head back.

“Don’t you ever say that to me again,” Castiel threatened, voice deeper and more frightening than Dean had ever heard it, “Ever.”

They looked at each other for a long time after that, words failing both of them. Dean’s eyes never left Castiel’s unwavering gaze. Eventually, Dean must have passed out because the next thing he knew he was waking up with perhaps the worst hangover he had ever had and a blanket draped neatly over him. His head pounded and his throat ached. There was a burning sensation across his left cheek.

Castiel sat in the chair opposite of him, the side of his face turning a dark purple as he ate scrambled eggs from a plate he held in his hands. Dean looked at him, and then at the coffee table where a giant plate of eggs and bacon sat waiting for him.

He sat up, hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he stifled a groan of pain. His whole body was as stiff as a board, a rhythm of pain beating through his brain. He picked up the fork laying next to what he assumed was his breakfast and poked the eggs with its tines.

“You’re still here,” he spoke into the deathly quiet, voice barely above a whisper and eyes staring deliberately at his plate.

Castiel paused, then took in a deep breath and sighed.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Dean glanced up to see if Castiel was looking at him and found that yes, he was. Not only that, but the expression on his face…

Dean wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

“We have known each other for a while now,” he started, nodding his head and staring into Dean’s eyes, “and I find that every day I would like to continue knowing you and I am concerned about the road you are currently going down. I know you’ve been through a lot.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something and Castiel raised an arm to stop him.

“I’m not trying to use what you told me about your past against you. Last night I made a comment about your brother and I want to apologize for that. It wasn’t fair, but I know he is important to you and I wanted to shock you into seeing yourself. And Dean, I was really worried. I am really worried.”

The shine in Castiel’s eyes made Dean believe him.

“I know it is difficult for you to accept help but I hope you’ll take it to heart when I tell you that I would really hate it if something were to happen to you,” he paused, sliding a piece of paper across the small coffee table that divided them, “I’ve come to think of you as my closest friend.”

Castiel rose from his seat, taking his dirty plate to the sink.

Dean opened the folded piece of paper a few seconds after he heard the front door close, finding a phone number with the word “HELP” scrawled above it.

“You need help.”

Dean attended his first meeting the next day.

 

-July 17th-

 

You’ve got to be kidding me.

The heat was radiating off of the red clay of the tennis court making Dean’s feet sweat inside of the borrowed tennis shoes he was wearing.

Yes, tennis. That one game with the small green bouncy ball that people on either side hit with rackets and pornographic noises. The one played by snobby rich white dudes who always voted republican and whose other hobbies included shit like sailing.

Castiel had somehow managed to rope him into playing this insanely stupid sport and not only that, but he got Dean to wear shorts. Khaki shorts.

When Castiel first suggested that Dean play with him, he’d laughed, thinking it was some sort of joke. Of course Dean would never play tennis and Castiel surely knew that by now. When it became apparent that, no, Castiel was delusional and truly wanted Dean to play with him, he’d outright refused. Castiel had raised a brow and Dean had repeated that he would rather die than play the game.

And now here he was. Castiel was a crafty bastard.

“Fuck!” Dean yelled in surprise as a fluorescent green ball whizzed past him, clipping his ear but avoiding his face for any real damage.

“Pay attention, Dean!” Castiel’s amused shout could be heard across the court.

Dean gave him a very unimpressed look before jogging after the ball. When he made it back to his side, he gave Castiel a devious look before throwing the ball up and sending it shooting towards his friend like a bullet.

Just as he was about to yell “That’ll teach ya!”, Castiel slammed into the ball with his racket with a loud grunt (Dean tucked the memory of that sound into the back of his mind) and sent it speeding back towards Dean who was not prepared for Castiel to be amazing at tennis.

 

Dean had only blacked out for a couple of seconds, but when he felt the headache ripping through his skull he immediately wished he’d been knocked out cold.

“Dean, are you okay?” Castiel questioned from above him, waving his hand in Dean’s face. “Dean, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“I’m fine, Cas, and you’re holding up three fingers,” he answered grouchily, swatting Castiel’s hand. “Let me get up and get some ice.”

Was Castiel seriously laughing?

 

Two days later he was having to explain to people at work the story of how he saved a mother and her three children from a burning building. Yes, definitely not a tennis injury.

 

-September 27th-

 

Dean and Castiel had been friends before Dean had the courage to go sober, sure, but without alcohol it was different.

It was better.

He had known Castiel didn’t like seafood and that his parents were kind of strict. He knew that his job sometimes stressed him out and he liked to play tennis and work out to wind down. But these were all superficial things. These were things that a lot of people knew about Castiel.

When Dean stopped guzzling down beer, it left time open to actually talk. And, as it turned out, Castiel was awesome to talk to. He was strange, sure, but he was also smart, witty, creative, and often very kind. The sort of kind that reminded Dean of his mother. The type of person who always had something extra to give to someone in need and if they didn’t, they would make something.

Dean and Castiel found time to hang out almost every week at least once and sometimes more. Sometimes Castiel would force him outside to hike or play some sort of sport, and sometimes Dean would force Castiel to listen to ACDC or Led Zepplin with him in his apartment. Mostly, they ended up at Dean’s apartment and spent the evening talking to one another. On the rarest of occasions, they would find themselves in Castiel’s house.

 

Dean had seen Castiel’s home twice before, but he still couldn’t get over how nice it was. It was furnished in the way you see in Home & Garden, it was spotless, and it always smelled nice. Honestly, it smelled like Castiel.

Dean glanced at his watch. 10:22 PM.

Castiel led Dean into the living room where he made himself comfortable on the couch and Dean followed suit. Normally Dean would have felt awkward in a house like this, like an outsider, but something about Castiel made him feel perfectly at ease. He knew that Castiel wasn’t judging him. He had, on many occasions, expressed his love of Dean’s small apartment (why anyone would like that POS was beyond Dean, but Castiel seemed genuine).

That was something he loved about his friend. He was nearly always honest about his feelings. There was never a time when Dean thought Castiel was being fake about anything and that just wasn’t something you could find in people in this world.

Yes, Castiel’s personality was the 8th wonder of the world, but there were physical things Dean enjoyed about Castiel as well.

For example, Castiel’s lips looked like they could ruin Dean’s entire life. They were full, pink, and every time the man used them to suck on a popsicle or even a straw Dean couldn’t breathe. Next there were Castiel’s hip bones. Dean had only managed to glimpse them a few times when Castiel had been replacing a light bulb in his kitchen. He lifted his arms up and up when his shirt, revealing a toned stomach and hip bones Dean physically had to stop himself from licking. Then there were his eyes, his hands, his chest, his hair, and Dean could still think of more.

Dean wanted more than anything to grab Castiel and kiss him silly, but there was just too much at stake. Castiel had become the best friend Dean had ever had in his life, and he had done so much for him. He had pulled Dean’s unwilling and unworthy ass out of hell, and no kisses, no sexual encounters were worth losing his best friend.

 

1:05 AM

 

“...and then I said, ‘Not if I eat it all first!’” Dean finished a story about Sam from their childhood, laughing.

Castiel let out a burst of laughter, smile practically taking up his entire face. The sight of that smile began a sort of buzzing in his chest that was becoming more and more familiar the more time he spent with his friend.

“Yeah, Sammy has always been like that,” Dean finished, and then added, “What about your family? I don’t really know much about them other than your parents are really strict.”

Castiel’s face changed immediately. The smile receded and lines appeared between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“I’m not really very close with my family, Dean,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

“But don’t you have any funny stories from when you were a kid or anything?” he questioned, finding Castiel’s sudden change in demeanor strange.

“Well, I didn’t really see my parents often. My father and my mother are very devoted to their work and I was raised by various nannies. My siblings and I would play sometimes when we were young but we don’t talk much now outside of business.”

Dean felt a wave of sympathy wash over him. Castiel might have had parents, but they were about as present as John Winchester in the last several years of his life. No wonder Castiel had been so profoundly affected by Dean’s story of his parents that night that seemed so long ago. He was about to speak when Castiel sighed heavily and continued.

“I’m sorry, Dean, let me expand this for you. It’s unfair of me to keep it to myself when you have shared so much with me.”

Dean hadn’t expected him to, but wasn’t going to stop him.

“You see, my parents are products of their parents. My father is a puppet of my grandfather’s and always will be. When they were young, they were sort of forced into engagement with one another because of a merging of their families’ companies.”

Dean raised his eyebrow. “What, like arranged marriage?”

Castiel smiled, but not a true smile like the ones that set Dean’s heart to buzzing.

“Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what it was. The point is that I believe their marriage has always been a business deal and that when they had children, they were only extensions of that business deal. The only funny memory I can think of is the time when I told my father I was gay and his reply was along the lines of ‘Oh, that’s nice, but you will be marrying a woman for the good of the company’,” at this, Castiel let out a bark of laughter that made Dean’s insides crawl, “It was the surest sign I’d had at that time that I wasn’t really a person to him but a business plan. I remember I was extremely worried about telling him that whole day. I was fantasizing he would be furious with me, remember I told you he is very religious? I thought he might yell at me or kick me out or disown me. I think I probably wanted him to disown me. But no, he couldn’t care less because he didn’t care about me. He still doesn’t.”

Castiel’s breathing had become heavy, his hair tousled from a wayward hand sneaking to dishevel it throughout his ranting. Dean let the information sink in.

“Jesus,” is all he could say.

Dean’s childhood had definitely been FUBAR, but he had at least had parents that loved him and cherished him when he was small. Even when his father was particularly bad in the later years, he had the memory of his mother’s warm hugs and soft, gentle singing. He had been loved.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” he said, unaware he was only repeating himself.

Castiel shrugged, letting his head fall back against the cushions of the couch, his body tense and unhappiness radiating from him.

Dean felt every inch of his body draw in towards Castiel. He put one hand on his friend’s shoulder, then the other on the opposite before gently pulling him into an embrace. Castiel sat still for barely a second before his arms encircled Dean in return. They clutched at one another for several moments, each breathing in the other’s scent.

 

3:30 AM

 

Castiel rubbed his hand over his tired face and Dean felt like he was going to pass out. It was late, and they were both too tired to live anymore. They had enjoyed one another’s company too much to let it send them to bed but enough was enough.

Castiel rose from his spot on the couch, muttering a ‘goodnight’ to Dean before staggering off to his bedroom like a drunk person. Dean pulled the blanket down from it’s spot over the back of the couch and nuzzled into it as he lay down.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes later when he heard Castiel’s voice from the doorway down the hall.

“Dean?”

He sat up, looking towards Castiel. “Yeah?” he inquired sleepily.

There was a long pause, and Dean almost slumped back down to go to sleep. And then,

“Would you come sleep with me?”

This woke him up a little, sending a pulse through his body before he relaxed once more. He stood, wavering, sleep threatening to take him at any moment.

“Yeah, of course I will.”

Dean crawled into Castiel’s bed like it was the most normal thing in the world to do. As the two cuddled in close together, breathing each other in, Dean felt a comfort unlike any he’d ever known.

_Me and Cas against the world._

It was the first of many nights they spent sleeping with one another.

  
  


-November 2nd-

 

“It’s been a rough night for me. I’m not going to do anything but I don’t know I maybe need a person here? I mean, I’m not saying you have to come over or anything I just wanted to talk or something.”

Today was the anniversary of Mary Winchester’s death. He knew this would be a difficult day for him, but he hadn’t prepared for how difficult.

In the morning he had called Sam, finding something to smile about in his brother. And it had been fine then, absolutely fine. Then they had to hang up and he was forced to sit alone in his apartment, thinking. Thinking grew into depressed thoughts, and depressed thoughts grew into thoughts of quieting the depressed thoughts. He knew a man named Jim Beam who could fix that right up for him.

He’d stopped at the store, walking up and down the booze aisle for nearly twenty minutes before he ran out and sped home. He then sat in his apartment, jingling his car keys in his hand and fantasizing about the burn of whiskey down his throat.

Somewhere along the way his rational brain decided to join the party and he called Cas. Now, he was rambling.

“Dean?” The deep voice on the other end of the line interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“No explanation needed, I’ll be there in ten.”

Dean couldn’t express in words the gratitude he felt for the blue-eyed man he’d met in that bar more than a year ago. Dean was an absolute mess when they had met, still was, but Castiel had stuck with him through it. Thanks to Castiel’s unwavering kindness and friendship, Dean was now almost 6 months sober. He’d stopped attending meetings, finding them overly religious and tedious, but he had stuck to his promise to Castiel. To Sam.

“Thank you,” he said out loud after hanging up, waiting to hear that familiar knock on his door.

_Me and Cas against the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We talked  
> Together sharpening the knife  
> Like killing partners for a life  
> Hey we can hide the bodies on the ride home
> 
> Now here we are  
> We're licking skin to wipe us clean  
> Strike a match, pour gasoline  
> Ditch the scene and watch this city burn  
> Asleep, my life will be a pillow steering wheel turn
> 
> I'll be reaching for the stars with you (honey)  
> Who cares if no one else believes  
> So I, set fire to everyone around  
> But I told you  
> I told you  
> We'd do it
> 
> So ha ha ha ha  
> ha ha ha ha  
> Yeah we won
> 
> We Drive  
> To leave the past and clear the mind  
> to watch the sunset set its time  
> I swear you'll find  
> I'm your ride home
> 
> Now close your eyes  
> its' getting dark and the highways clear  
> No sign of life from front to rear  
> Its just you my dear  
> On the ride home  
> We're going home
> 
> I'll be reaching for the stars with you (honey)  
> Who cares if no one else believes  
> So I, set fire to everyone around  
> But I told you  
> I told you  
> We'd do it
> 
> So ha ha ha ha  
> ha ha ha ha  
> Yeah we won
> 
> We talked  
> Together sharpening a knife  
> Like killing partner for a life  
> Hey we can hide the bodies on the ride home  
> Cause we're going home
> 
> I'll be reaching for the stars with you (honey)  
> Who cares if no one else believes  
> So I, set fire to everyone around  
> But I told you  
> I told you  
> We'd do it
> 
> So ha ha ha ha (we won)  
> ha ha ha ha (oh yeah we won)  
> ha ha ha ha (we won)  
> ha ha ha ha  
> Yeah we won  
> Yeah we won


	3. Into the Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds out something that makes him want to swim a million miles away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Gishwhes has finally ended and I can focus on doing other things. It was an insane week, but I finally can manage to get this out to you today. Please let me know what you think :)

Dean sat down on his couch - well, more like plopped down onto it - chugging a bottle of water and reaching for the remote. It was a Saturday afternoon and Dean was bored nearly out of his mind. He'd woken up late, masturbated, showered, masturbated again, listened to some ACDC, ate some leftovers from the depths of his refrigerator and now he was stuck wondering what he was going to do for the rest of the day.

He flipped through channels mindlessly, shaking his head as he passed poorly produced commercials and even worse actual television programming.

What he was really trying to do was avoid the fact that he wanted to see Cas. It had been nearly three weeks since Dean had seen him last and he felt pathetic for missing him as much as he did. He hadn't seen Sam in almost 3  _months_ , so why were a few measly little weeks without Cas such a big deal?

He continued clicking through the channels, each press of a button seeming to send him deeper and deeper into his bad thoughts.

Well, it was a big deal because this was the longest Dean had gone without seeing those blue eyes and that wide smile in almost a year. The two of them had become inseparable, the best of friends. Maybe they had gone two weeks without hanging out, but they were almost always texting throughout the separation.

Dean sighed, setting down the remote after turning the T.V. off and fishing his phone out of his pocket for the 50th time that day. He unlocked it to find that Cas still hadn't texted him.

They'd had a small exchange three days ago, but it left Dean feeling more distanced from Castiel than ever.

_D: 8:23 PM -picture of a soda can with the brand name 'Cass'- you're making soda now? No wonder you're so busy_

_C: 8:47 PM haha_

_D: 8:50 PM how are you?_

_C: 9:35 PM fine_

_C: 9:35 PM you?_

_D: 9:40 PM I'm ok_

_D: 10:15 PM see you soon?_

And then...nothing. Three days and he hadn't heard a thing. He would be worried that Cas might have died or something but there would have been a giant news story about it if that were true.

Maybe...well, maybe Cas didn't want to be Dean's friend anymore.

The thought gave him a pain in his head that then traveled down to curl up in his gut, making him feel nauseated and exhausted. He tried to push it away, tried to think about how stupid that was, but the more he thought the more it made sense.

Cas had no reason to be friends with Dean in the first place, after all. Sure, he was now over a year sober, and things were going well for him. He had a steady job, he wasn't in danger of losing his apartment and he wasn't getting wasted every time they hung out together. These were all true facts, but none of them changed all of the things he did during his dark period (the way he now thought of those times), and Cas had witnessed so many of those things. Dean had even punched him once.

On top of that, Castiel's family  _loathed_  Dean. The first time he met his mother, he was sleeping in Cas's bed and she thought Dean and Cas were sleeping together.

_Well,_ he thought sheepishly,  _we were, but not like_ that _._

Cas had introduced the two in the most awkward way in human history, and Dean was certain he'd never return to his normal coloring.

When he talked to Sammy about it over the phone, his brother had been skeptical.

" _She hates me, Sam, his whole family probably does."_

_Sam gave a disbelieving sigh._

" _What proof do you have for that, Dean?"_

He hadn't had any at the time, but that came soon enough.

Cas had kindly invited Dean to a dinner with his older brother, Michael. He'd been so nervous that he'd allowed Cas to dress him up for the occasion, and for the first half of the night, Michael had seemed like a really cool dude.

Then Castiel had excused himself to go to the bathroom.

" _So, what are you after?" Michael asked him after a few seconds of awkward silence._

_The question took Dean by surprise, and he couldn't quite grasp it's meaning._

" _Sorry?"_

_Michael smirked, taking a careful sip of his wine._

" _What are you after?" he asked again._

_He studied Dean's facial expression as he placed the glass down and folded his hands in front of him._

" _This weird relationship you have with my brother, what are you after? Is it money? Status?"_

_Dean almost choked on his own spit in response._

"What _?" he asked incredulously. "No, none of those things! Why would you ask that?"_

_Michael didn't look like he believed him. He put on a fake smile, eyes glancing towards the restrooms where Castiel had disappeared._

" _Listen, my family is onto you," he said, leaning in and almost whispering across the table, "If you think of getting your hands on any substantial amount of money or power or…"_

_He trailed off, eyes flicking towards the restroom once again._

" _Whatever other pursuit you are thinking of taking, you better think about it again."_

_Dean was speechless, which was a good thing because right then Cas returned to the table, smiling and reaching for his glass of water as he sat._

" _Welcome back," Michael greeted Cas pleasantly._

_Dean kept his mouth shut._

He never told Cas about that conversation with his brother, but he came close to it a few times. On one hand, he wanted reassurance from Cas that he didn't think Dean was trying to get anything from him. He wanted to make a case for himself, make Cas understand that all he wanted was his friendship.

_And maybe a little more than that…_

But definitely not any of his money! And power? Dean could almost laugh out loud at the idea that he would ever be after power.

On the other hand, what if Dean told Cas and suddenly Cas thought the same as his family? What if by being desperate to let Cas know he didn't want anything from him, he thought maybe Dean really  _was_ after something.

Dean felt worry fall over him, making his body tense and his mind start racing.

Maybe Castiel had a conversation or two with his family and they convinced him, finally, that Dean was no good. Maybe he was distancing himself from Dean on purpose. Maybe the short texts and the current silence were Castiel's way of letting Dean know that their friendship was over. He would lose his best friend, his only friend.

The worst part was, and he didn't even know when it had happened, that he had fallen for Castiel harder than he could have ever imagined. He was so in love with Castiel that the idea of losing him was too terrifying to even let him know about his feelings. Dean would rather be Castiel's friend, aching for him inside of his heart for the rest of his life, than lose him.

He couldn't lose him now, over absolutely nothing...

Dean stopped, rubbing his hands over his face as sickness twisted in his belly.

_Stop_ , he could hear the words Cas used to say when he first began his journey towards sobriety.  _Stop, and breathe_.

He took in several deep breaths, inhaling, and then slowly exhaling, trying to relax. He did this for several moments, and when he could finally think in a somewhat coherent way, he got up off of the couch and walked to his bedroom. There, he changed into his running clothes and grabbed a pair of earbuds off of his nightstand.

Dean was going for a run.

After tying his laces and doing a little pre-run jog, he started full-out running. It occurred to him before how weird it was for him to actually enjoy the activity of running. An activity that he had, on many occasions, made fun of Sam for participating in.

About a month or so ago, Dean answered a phone call from Sam and when he asked him what he was up to, Dean let it slip that he was about to go on a run. Sam thought it was a stupid joke at first, but when he finally understood that Dean was being genuine, he made fun of him mercilessly.

" _If I'm ever running, Sammy," he said, putting on a voice that was supposed to be an imitation of Dean, "You better run too because something fucked up is chasing after me."_

_Dean rolled his eyes, tempted to just hang up the phone._

" _You're a comedic genius, Sam."_

_Sam laughed._

" _You're the one that said it!"_

_It was a few minutes later when Sam stopped teasing._

" _All joking aside though, I'm really glad you've found something that makes you feel good Dean."_

_Dean groaned, covering his face in embarrassment even though no one was there to see him._

" _Please save the sappy shit, Sam."_

" _I'm just...I'm really proud of you," he said, no laugh left in his voice._

_After they said their goodbyes, Dean hung up the phone and although he would never admit it, he cried._

It was all Cas's fault he'd started this ridiculous activity to begin with, anyway. During the dark days, before sobriety occurred to him as an option, Dean would allow the bad thoughts to overtake him and make him drink until he was unconscious.

Cas saw right through that, of course, and helped Dean try and think of a way to help relax him.

" _Or you could try meditation," Cas suggested nonchalantly._

_Dean's face drew down into a frown so severe that Cas almost laughed._

"Meditation _?" Dean questioned, body language radiating a loud 'NO'._

_Cas did laugh then, shaking his head and patting Dean on the shoulder. He cocked his head to the side, what he always did when he was thinking, and squinted his eyes._

" _Oh, maybe something physical!" he exclaimed after a moment._

_Dean's eyes grew wide, brain wandering straight down the gutter._

" _Yoga?"_

_It seemed impossible for his frown to get any worse, but it did and Cas didn't even need a reply before he continued._

" _What about running?"_

_Dean groaned and gave Cas an irritated look._

" _This all sounds stupid, let's just talk about it later or something."_

One day when he'd started to feel like drinking sounded like a good idea, he got desperate enough to actually try Cas's suggestion.

He'd expected the experience to go poorly. He'd expected burning lungs and pain in his legs. He'd expected to hate it and even though, yes, his lungs  _did_  burn and yeah, his legs  _did_  hurt, there was something wonderful about the feel of those things.

He'd thought he'd wanted an out of body experience but discovered the full in-body experience of running. He couldn't be bothered with his self loathing or the poisonous thoughts that came to him when he was feeling bad; he was too focused on the sweat dripping down the side of his face, the way he was breathing, the heat rising from the street he ran on. He couldn't remember another time he'd been so  _present_  in his body.

* * *

Dean jumped into the shower as soon as he got home feeling much better than he had when he left. He was still uneasy about the Castiel situation, but there wasn't much he could do about it at the moment. He finished up quickly, changing into some pajamas and plugging his headphones back into his ears.

He sung quietly under his breath as he entered the kitchen, the sounds of Led Zeppelin blaring into his ears while he reached for a glass from his cupboard. He flipped the faucet on, filling the glass and then taking a drink.

As soon as the water entered his mouth, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He made an embarrassing "GUH!" noise while spinning around to face the intruder, simultaneously spitting the water out of his mouth and…

...straight into Castiel's face.

"What the f-fuck!?" Dean sputtered, heart hovering somewhere above million beats per minute. He tugged the earbuds out of his ears, the loud music only seeming to make everything worse. Cas's face was scrunched up, shining with wetness.

Dean let out a strangled laugh and hurried to find a kitchen towel, handing it over to Cas. Cas wiped his face down with the towel, placing it onto the counter when he was finished.

"It's nice to see you too, Dean," he said.

"Jesus, Cas, you can't just freaking grab me from behind like that! You scared the shit out of me, man."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Cas answered quietly.

Dean was about to go on a rant about how yes, he gave Cas a key, but not so the guy could come over and startle the ever-living  _shit_  out of him when he actually looked at Castiel.

There was no better way to put it, Cas looked  _awful_. His hair, always a bit tousled, looked like he had been tugging at it all day, struggling not to pull it from his head. The circles under his eyes were dark enough that it looked like he hadn't had a proper night's sleep in a long while. His clothes were all sorts of disheveled, coat wrinkled, tie pulled loose and turned around.

That was all very concerning, but what bothered Dean the most was the lack of light usually present in Cas's eyes. Right now, they looked flat, almost emotionless. Those lips looked as if they hadn't smiled since Dean saw Cas last and...well, maybe that was true.

"Jesus, Cas, you look like hell," Dean couldn't help from falling past his lips.

The smallest of exhausted smiles appeared at the corner of Cas's lips and then quickly faded.

Dean placed a hand on Cas's shoulder.

"What's going on? Is something wrong?" Dean asked, unable to keep the obvious concern out of his voice.

Cas let out a deep sigh, shrugging.

"It's been a very long day and a very long week, Dean, and not a good one," he said in a tone that suggested he didn't want to talk about it.

Dean ignored the tone and tried a couple more times to get Cas to talk, but it didn't work.

"Alright, well what are you doing here? Want to watch a movie or something?"

Cas nodded his miserable looking face and Dean felt awkward.

A few minutes later he had Castiel sat down on his couch and he was putting in a comedy that he'd rented from Redbox the night before.

"I've heard this is pretty funny," he said conversationally, trying to get Cas to talk even a little bit.

"Hm," Cas replied, nodding when Dean looked at him.

_Well, I guess that was a response._

Dean relocated to the couch, sitting at the space furthest from Castiel. He thought maybe his friend needed space, and it would help not to overcrowd him. Then again, if he wanted space why did he come over to Dean's apartment?  
Dean sighed, pressing play on the remote.

Throughout the entire movie, Dean kept looking to Cas at the funny parts. Normally, if they were watching a movie, Dean would have the privilege to see that face break out into a wide grin and to hear that full-bellied laugh but not tonight. Now, occasionally the corner of his mouth would lift, but Dean could tell it was strictly for his benefit and that there was no genuine amusement there.

Dean could hardly pay attention to the movie, distracted by Cas's mood. That, and the way Cas's phone (which he had taken out and glanced at once 10 minutes into the film, sighing and tossing it onto the coffee table) kept buzzing, text after text coming through. Dean kept looking between Cas and the phone, but he never went to view the texts or answer them.

Dean wished he could see what they said, get some insight into whatever the hell was going on with Cas. He had disappeared for nearly three weeks and then suddenly showed up here, in Dean's apartment, looking like a nearly dead person. What had happened? Dean was  _burning_  to know, but he knew that Cas would tell him in his own time.

When the movie ended, Dean used the remote to turn it off. He placed the device down onto the coffee table, sighing quietly as he moved his eyes to Castiel once again.

He looked so  _small_  sitting in the corner of the couch the way he was. As Dean looked at him, he became overwhelmed with the desire to make his best friend feel better. His best friend who he just happened to be in love with.

Dean got up, ejecting the movie and placing it back in its case. Instead of going back to his seat, he walked over to Castiel.

Dean paused in front of the man who looked like he'd been dragged through all nine circles of hell and then dropped and kneeled in front of him, placing his hands on Castiel's knees.

Castiel widened his eyes in surprise, cocking his head slightly.

Dean coughed, clearing his throat before reaching up to pull at the knot of Castiel's already loosened tie.

"Look," he said, "I don't know what happened today, but I can see that you look like hell and I'm guessing you feel like hell too."

He managed to get the tie undone, pulling it away from Cas's neck and throwing it on the floor. Flashes of the first time they met went through his mind, that moment he recognized the tie as the noose around Cas's neck, and he felt happy to have it relocated to the floor. He might even step on it later.

"You don't have to say anything, it's probably not something I would understand anyway," Dean continued, predicting it might be something business related.

Dean reached behind him for a moment, grabbing Cas's phone and resisting the temptation to look at the texts there (there were so many of them), and showed Cas the phone as he turned it off.

"You are at  _my_  house, and no one has to know you're here. No one can bother you because I will throw this phone into the goddamned toilet if you want," Dean said, giving a little laugh.

Dean wasn't sure where all of this was coming from, but he meant every word. Before he could even think about it, he heard himself speak again.

"This can be your sanctuary, alright?"

Dean stared up into Cas's face, watching his facial expression go from withdrawn to...well, were those tears glistening in his eyes? Dean could see pain still, but there was something that looked a lot like gratitude in that face.

He watched like a distant observer as his hand lifted, cupping Castiel's cheek. The overwhelming desire to kiss the face he held almost overtook him.

Instead, he moved to stand up, clearing his throat awkwardly and grabbing a dirty cup off of his coffee table to take to the kitchen.

_That's it, stay busy so you don't attack your friend_ , he chastised himself.

He placed the cup in the sink and looked around for something else to do, cursing himself for having done the dishes already.

He was so busy in his own head that he didn't even hear Castiel come up behind him, and it wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he knew he was there. It startled him, but his reaction wasn't as violent as it had been before.

He turned, taking in a small gasp.

"Hey, I…", he started to say, trailing off as his saw the expression on Castiel's face.

Castiel looked at him for a moment, eyes shining, before grabbing his face with both hands and pulling him in.

The world stood still around Dean and all that mattered was the way Castiel's lips felt against his, soft and sweet and so  _passionate_. The way his hands cupped Dean's face, so gentle and yet somehow possessive. The way his mouth moved against his, taking his breath away but also giving him life.

It was a shock to his system, but it took less than a second for his body to catch up with what was happening. His hands moved to grasp at Castiel's hips, pulling him closer and reveling in the feel of their bodies so close.

He couldn't even think about what this could possibly mean, he was lost in the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. He couldn't help the neediness of his kisses, the desperation, the way his hands clung to Castiel like he was what tethered him to the earth.

Then Castiel's hands were on the move, one trailing down to rest on Dean's chest and the other curling around to the back of Dean's neck, pressing to deepen their kiss. And suddenly Castiel's tongue was breaking past Dean's lips, hot and greedy and  _so good_  and the moan that escaped Dean's throat didn't have a chance of being held back.

As quickly as Cas had taken over him he was going, pulling his body away abruptly. Dean was practically panting, his lips aching as he searched Castiel's face for an explanation on what just happened and why it had  _stopped._

Castiel looked back for barely a second before tearing his eyes away from Dean and staring fixedly at the tile floor.

"I'm…," he gasped, then cleared his throat, "I'm sorry I don't know what I…"

Castiel trailed off again but Dean stayed silent. He had no idea what to say.

He'd never seen Castiel so out of his element. He might have had moments of being unkempt or of having messy hair or wrinkled clothes but language was always on his side. Seeing him speechless rendered Dean speechless.

Not to mention the fact that the moment they had just shared had left Castiel's lips red and swollen, his neck flushed, breath coming out in short gasps as they pulled apart. Dean knew he couldn't have looked much better.

Castiel cleared his throat again, trying to pull himself together.

"I don't know why I did that," he whispered, eyes flitting between Dean and his own feet.

Dean opened his mouth to respond but Cas immediately interrupted him.

"I should sleep," he said, nodding and turning to walk towards the bedroom.

* * *

Dean couldn't remember a single time where he'd woken up before Cas in all of their time as friends. He always woke up to him gone, to the smell of him making breakfast, or to the sound of him in the shower. So when he woke up with Cas still lying next to him in bed he was confused. It took him a couple minutes before he realized that yes, it  _was_  morning.

Dean sat up, letting the blankets bunch up at his waist as he rubbed the sleep from his face. He sighed quietly, turning to look down at Cas.

Cas slept on his back, hands resting on his abdomen and face tilted to the side, lips parted. He looked so serene, none of the troubles from the previous night present on his face and Dean felt a smile appear on his lips at his next thought. It wasn't the first time he'd thought of Cas like this, but it never failed to make him smile: Cas looked like an angel.

He felt a blush creeping up his neck as he carefully removed the covers and stepped out of his bed, making sure not to disturb Cas's sleep before making his way to the kitchen. Once there, the reality of last night hit him fully in the face. He stared at the spot where he'd stood the night before, the spot where Cas had grabbed him and kissed him. And then…

…well, Cas had apologized ( _unnecessarily,_ Dean thought), and then insisted they go to sleep.

" _Yeah…okay…yeah," was all that Dean could say, thinking_ you expect me to sleep?

_Castiel stood still for several moments, and when the silence was about to make Dean lose his mind, he nodded and headed towards the bedroom._

" _I'll um, I'll be…I have a couple things to do before I go to bed," Dean said, feeling the awkwardness of every word._

_Castiel stopped and turned around. Dean wasn't sure, but he thought he saw…was that disappointment? It was gone as soon as he noticed it, and Castiel simply nodded his head and continued on toward the bedroom._

_Dean busied himself in the kitchen, not really doing anything since there wasn't anything to do. He wiped down the already clean counters and rearranged a few things in the fridge. He moved on to the living room, straightening up things that had no real need to be straightened._

_It was as though Castiel's kiss had descended on Dean like a force of nature and he was left dealing with the aftermath. Only there wasn't actually anything destroyed, everything was the way that it had been since before Castiel even arrived at the apartment._

_But that was the thing: the apartment was intact, but Dean wasn't._

Dean started the coffee maker, twitching at every little noise he thought might be Cas. He was terrified to face him. What was he doing to say?

_Hey man, that kiss was amazing, how about we do that again sometime, huh?,_ he thought, adding in a cheesy wink at the end.

He shook his head, cringing inside at the thought.

What was Cas going to say?

" _I don't know why I did that."_

Dean felt a twinge of pain in his chest when he thought about those words. He'd gone over them a million times sitting on his couch in the middle of the night before, stalling going to bed.

It was clear that Castiel had regretted it. He'd regretted it  _immediately_.

It was nearly ten minutes later when Dean heard sounds coming down the hallway that were undeniably Castiel's footsteps. He good feel his shoulders hunching up protectively, bracing himself for perhaps the most awkward conversation of his life.

Castiel walked straight into the kitchen and stood in front of Dean. What was he going to say? Was this finally the end to their friendship? Dean could hardly stand waiting.

Castiel slid a hand through his hair that stuck up in all directions after a rough night of sleep.

"I could really use some caffeine," he yawned.

And that...was it.

They shared a pot of coffee, Cas made a joke about something said on the television, and then he gathered up his things and left.

It was as if nothing had ever happened.

* * *

"Later, Benny!" Dean shouted, waving as he walked to his Impala. It had been a busy day at the garage and he was glad it was done but he felt a profound sense of accomplishment whenever he worked hard. It felt good.

He drove home, blasting Metallica while drumming on his steering wheel and feeling pretty good about his life. Things were going well. He had a job he liked, he and Sam were on pretty good terms, and then there was Cas…

Well, he was still confused about Cas.

That kiss had sent him to a very weird place in his mind, but honestly he was just happy that they were speaking again. It had been a long few weeks without his best friend.

Dean smiled as he entered his apartment, looking down at the screen of his phone to see a text from Cas. Before he could open it to read what it said, his phone started ringing. Sam's smiling face appeared and Dean swiped, answering the call.

"Hey, Sammy! Do you have a some weird security system installed at my house? How do you always know the instant I get home?"

"Are you okay?" Sam's voice asked, sounding panicked.

"What? Yes of course I'm fine. I just got off of work, you dork. Why the hell do you sound so worried?"

Sam let out a heavy sigh, but no relief entered his voice when he spoke again.

"Don't play stupid, Dean, I know how you…," Sam paused, "I know how you feel about him, okay?"

There had been many times in his life, especially when they were children, where Dean had felt like Sam was speaking a foreign language when he spoke. This was one of those times.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, some of Sam's panic rubbing off on his tone.

"Castiel."

Dean felt a tight clench in his belly. Was he really so obvious? Did Sam actually know about his feelings for his friend?

But wait…

Why was Sammy panicked about his feelings for Cas?

_What?_

"Call me when you're ready to talk, Dean. I'm really...," Sam exhaled a deep breath, and Dean could picture the furrowed eyebrows that sound always accompanied, "I'm really sorry, okay? I'm here for you though if and when you need to talk."

Then, Sam hung up without any warning. Dean stared at his phone in complete confusion.

"What the  _hell_?" he asked out loud, hoping that something in his brain would click and allow him to understand what that conversation was.

Okay, so his feelings were supposed to be low-key. So yeah, liking Cas was weird and no one was supposed to know about it. But why was Sam so weird? Even if he knew, which Dean was still perplexed by (though Sam has always been ridiculously observant), why the "I'm sorry"?

Dean opened his laptop, shaking his head in hoped of shaking that bizarre exchange with his brother out of his head, and opening up his favorite news site to pass the time until dinner. He felt agitated by Sam's call, and he wanted to get his mind off of it.

He scrolled through the stories, first the world news, and then a little more local.

That's when he saw something that made his heart drop into his stomach.

_BUSINESS TYCOON NOVAK'S SON ENGAGED TO DAUGHTER OF FLEXCORP, INC._

Dean stared open mouthed at the photograph of Castiel's face next to another photo of a young woman with a beautiful face. His eyes darted back up to the word  _engaged_  and he felt as though he might vomit.

The article was short, merely stating the headline in a more descriptive way, listing Castiel by name so Dean had no way of denying that it was actually him. The world around him blurred and he felt like he might actually faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Into the Ocean" by Blue October
> 
> I'm just a normal boy
> 
> That sank when I fell overboard
> 
> My ship would leave the country
> 
> But I'd rather swim ashore
> 
> Without a life that's sadly stuck again
> 
> Wish I was much more masculine
> 
> Maybe then I could learn to swim
> 
> Like 'fourteen miles away'
> 
> You're floating up and down
> 
> I spin, colliding into sound
> 
> Like whales beneath me diving down
> 
> I'm sinking to the bottom of my
> 
> Everything that freaks me out
> 
> The lighthouse beam has just run out
> 
> I'm cold as cold as cold can be
> 
> be
> 
> I want to swim away but don't know how
> 
> Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean
> 
> Let the waves up take me down
> 
> Let the hurricane set in motion
> 
> Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down
> 
> Let the rain come down
> 
> Where is the coastguard
> 
> I keep looking each direction
> 
> For a spotlight, give me something
> 
> I need something for protection
> 
> Maybe flotsam junk will do just fine
> 
> The jets, I'm sunk, I'm left behind
> 
> I'm treading for my life believe me
> 
> (How can I keep up this breathing)
> 
> Not knowing how to think
> 
> I scream aloud, begin to sink
> 
> My legs and arms are broken down
> 
> With envy for the solid ground
> 
> I'm reaching for the life within me
> 
> How can one man stop his ending
> 
> I thought of just your face
> 
> Relaxed, and floated into space
> 
> I want to swim away but don't know how
> 
> Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean
> 
> Let the waves up take me down
> 
> Let the hurricane set in motion
> 
> Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down
> 
> Let the rain come down
> 
> Let the rain come down
> 
> Now waking to the sun
> 
> I calculate what I had done
> 
> Like jumping from the bow (yeah)
> 
> Just to prove I knew how (yeah)
> 
> It's midnight's late reminder of
> 
> The loss of her, the one I love
> 
> My will to quickly end it all
> 
> So thought no end my need to fall
> 
> Into the ocean, end it all
> 
> Into the ocean, end it all
> 
> Into the ocean, end it all
> 
> into the ocean...end it all

**Author's Note:**

> Some kind of light  
> at the end  
> When touching  
> the edge of her skin
> 
> Once so hard to speak  
> Now so easy to play around  
> Catching your eye you know  
> That eye that slapped you in your face  
> calls you a puppy  
> Well how do you say  
> I was hypnotized  
> Hypnotized
> 
> My words, they pour  
> Like children to the playground  
> Children to the playground  
> You make me smile
> 
> There's some kind of light at the end  
> Stoned, forgetful, and then  
> I'm drinking what used to be sin  
> And touching the edge of her skin
> 
> And could you be the one that's not afraid  
> To look me in the eye  
> I swear I would collapse  
> If I would tell how I think you fell  
> From the sky
> 
> My words, they pour  
> Like children to the playground  
> Children to the playground  
> You make me smile
> 
> There's some kind of light at the end  
> Stoned, forgetful, and then  
> I'm drinking what used to be sin  
> And touching the edge of her skin
> 
> There's some kind of light at the end  
> Stoned, forgetful, and then  
> I'm drinking what used to be sin  
> And touching the edge of her skin
> 
> It's the feeling I get  
> My palms with sweat  
> Like some kind of daydream  
> I'll never forget  
> I'm stuck in this spin  
> Why does it begin  
> By touching the edge of her skin
> 
> There's some kind of light at the end  
> Stoned, forgetful, and then  
> I'm drinking what used to be sin  
> And touching the edge of her skin
> 
> There's some kind of light at the end  
> Stoned, forgetful, and then  
> I'm drinking what used to be sin  
> And touching the edge of her skin


End file.
